The Consort, the only Barrani Kaylin had ever met with white hair, raised a pale brow at the question. As her eyes were already almost black, they couldn’t get any darker; Kaylin imagined poor manners would take a back seat to everything else. Or hoped they would.
The Consort surprised Kaylin. “No. They do not report to me; nor are they beholden to me in any but the general way.”
“The general way?”
“I am the Lady; I am the mother of our race unless and until someone suitable for the duties I have undertaken is found. The Barrani in general believe that I would fight—as our kind does—to retain my position, because they believe that position comes with power. I will not argue; it does. But it comes with a burden of responsibility and duty, the shouldering of which can break us; we can never set it aside. Were someone suitable found, I would gratefully pass on the weight of that burden.”
That was unlikely to happen. If Kaylin grew to hate being a Hawk, she could quit. There would be consequences, of course—she had no idea what she would do without that job to define her. The Consort didn’t have that option. And it was the Lake that somehow chose the successor.
“My mother did not want me to become the Consort,” she continued, eyes dark. “Did you know? She did not want that for her daughter.”
No, of course not. She knew, better than any, how costly the burden could be; she, too, had borne it. And because she had and could, she had no desire to see those she loved suffer for the sake of a title, a position. It probably made her very unlike most of her kin—just as the Consort was.
“But if given a choice between me and someone the Lake did not accept, it was me. Come, I am restless. Walk with me. I would leave An’Teela behind, but she is already entangled in this; I could ask my brother—” she obviously meant the High Lord “—to forbid all investigation, but I can see the color of An’Teela’s eyes; she will not obey.”
“But he’s the High Lord!”
“Yes. And if obedience was owed to power, we would have no assassins, and you would have no need of the Halls of Law among your own kind. She will continue, now, until she has answers—or until she understands how damning, how damaging, those answers could be to us as a people.”
The Consort began her walk at a slow, measured pace, but her hands, twined behind her back, were white-knuckled; they almost appeared to be shaking. Any annoyance at a spy in the Halls of Law bled away, as if those shaking hands cut deeply. Teela shot Kaylin a look, which more or less promised a dire lecture at a later point; Kaylin grimaced and hurried to catch up with the Consort.
“You are aware that my position is, in theory, apolitical. You are also aware that I am sister and Consort to the High Lord—and the High Lord’s position is the very opposite of apolitical. Only in times of external war do the various attempts to unseat a High Lord grind to a halt; it was ever thus.
“My brother is not my father; my father was a man of stone. The High Lord speaks to me, and to our brother, Lirienne, when he is concerned. Perhaps I should not have come across the information that was given to him—he is given so many reports, I might be forgiven for missing one.
“But I could not ignore this one. Do you know why?”
Kaylin shook her head.
“I can speak of it to you because, although you are mortal and not kin, you have seen the Lake. You understand its composition, and you understand why, in the end, it is the source of all Barrani life. Were I to perish unexpectedly, you—as lord of the court—would be called upon to fulfill the duties I could no longer fulfill. This is not broadly or widely known, but An’Teela does know it.
“You are therefore slightly safer than you once were. And because of this, I am slightly less safe—but I do not begrudge it. It has been a solace and comfort to me to know that in the event of an emergency, you, who bear the marks of the Chosen, will shepherd the children who cannot wake without the blessing of the Lake.
“You were not raised as a possible Consort. You were not educated as a possible Consort. Our history, such as it is, is barely known to you—but you know the broad strokes. When you entered our Tower you saw and touched things that almost none of my kin could see or touch—and you survived.
“You and I have been at cross purposes before. I was angry at the risks you were willing to take, and that anger has not fully abated—but that risk pales in comparison to this one, where my duties are concerned. No, it will not end the world. But it could harm or empty the Lake from which our life flows.”
Teela lowered her chin; she had joined the Consort and Kaylin, but walked behind, as if she were a simple guard or escort.
“So, I will speak, here, in a place that no others can reach, of a history of the Lake and the struggle to earn the position of Consort by those families who cannot understand, given their nature and beliefs, that the position cannot and will not be given to those who desire it purely for political purposes. Were there a council which made the decision, were it an election, perhaps they would hold sway.
“It is the Lake that decides, not the High Lord or his many allies or rivals. There was a time when belief in that was at an ebb—people who have power believe, in the end, that the power they have must prevail. It was a disaster—worse than a disaster. It has shadowed all of those who guard and guide the Lake. If children’s stories loom large in your life, imagine that your bedtime stories are actual history. It is a history that is very seldom discussed—but you’ve stumbled across a name that features in it.
“And to speak of that history, I must speak a name that is cursed; beyond the import of the historical lesson it teaches, it is never spoken.”
“Azoria,” Kaylin said.
“Kitling, what does never spoken actually mean to you?” Teela said, in obvious frustration. She spoke in Elantran.
“It’s easier for me to say it; it clearly has more weight for the Consort. I was trying to be helpful, Teela.”
“And if this is a result of helpful, it better explains the chaos you continually cause.”
“This didn’t start with me!”
The Consort cleared her throat, and both of the Hawks turned toward her. To Kaylin’s surprise, the indigo had paled enough the Consort’s eyes looked almost normal—for any other Barrani. Besides Serralyn, the Consort was the only Barrani whose eyes were frequently green. “I am grateful that you chose to accept my invitation, both of you. An’Teela, she is correct. I find it difficult to speak the name. But she speaks the name because nothing I say will make sense if it is not spoken at least once; she confirms her suspicions.”
“I believe context makes it clear, but subtlety has never been Kaylin’s strength.”
Kaylin shrugged.
“You have heard that her entire clan was excised.”
“And that she’s dead, yes.”
“That happened centuries ago. Before I was born, but not before my mother’s time. We do not speak of her. We want no word of her to exist in the polity at large. Even the Arcanum does not mention her name. And yet, somehow, a woman dead centuries ago, buried, all traces that could be easily found obliterated, has led you here. I asked An’Teela to bring you to the meeting we had planned—which was partially social in nature—because I hoped to plead my case in the most private of the spaces the High Halls could provide: please, stop investigating.”
It was Teela who said, “I am sorry. It is not possible now. I understood your plea, if not the reason for it, your eyes so seldom adopt that color. But the rumors of her death may have been exaggerated or greatly exaggerated.”
The indigo once again overwhelmed normal blue as the Consort paled. “Come,” she said. “It is not far now.”
The Consort led them both to a small round table, better suited to Helen’s version of a garden than the High Halls. There were no chairs; in their place was a circular bench that circumscribed the table itself—which appeared to be made of wood, although it seemed to Kaylin that the wood was rooted in the ground beneath it.
“Please, be seated,” she said, seating herself first as if to prove that the bench was safe.
Kaylin glanced at her familiar, but he seemed focused on the Consort; he had no squawks to give. She sat at the same time as Teela did; they formed the points of a triangle as they took their places.
“I will not offer refreshments unless you desire them,” she said—to Kaylin. Teela’s eyes matched the Consort’s in color, which clearly indicated neither had any desire for food. Kaylin shook her head.
“Did you know?” Teela asked.
The Consort shook her head. “If we had known, a greater portion of the resources offered us would have been spent in pursuit and execution. Were it not An’Teela who presented this news, I am not certain I would have believed it. Or that I believe it now. But there must be a reason you believe this.
“And if she is, as you suspect, alive, that changes the complexion of our immediate future. I am grateful for your intervention with the High Halls; the threat she posed in ancient times she posed after the loss of its oversight. I believe the change in the High Halls will make the Lake far safer. But safer is not safe.” She exhaled.
Spoke a name.
To the center of the table came what looked like a miniature mirror—a small pond that seemed, from this height, to have no bottom, no end. In it, Kaylin could see the swirl of lines, tiny filaments of moving gold. The Lake.
“You are aware that the Lake is the containment and home to all of the True Words that give life to the Barrani,” she said. “You have touched it; you have carried those words, returning some to the Lake and some to those they can inhabit.
“You are aware that I, like my mother, will seek the solace of an end to pain and duty in the...waters. I hope it will be far in the future.”
Kaylin was unsettled. The Barrani could live forever. They were Immortal. What would make them throw away eternity? But even thinking that, she knew. Had she not come to the Hawks expecting to die—and grateful, in the end, for that opportunity?
“She was put forward as a candidate for Consort by her family. Her father was powerful, as were his allies, and as many powerful men before him, he desired a daughter who was equal to the High Lord. He desired the power that would accrue to the family should she be chosen.
“We have been unconcerned—we who occupy the Consort’s throne—because we know what the Lake seeks. She did not have the softness, the empathy, the hidden reverence for life, for birth, the hope for the future—and she would never develop it.”
“Killianas was under the impression that she was indulged by her father. He’s the Avatar of the Academia. I wanted to know what he knew, but he would not discuss it.”
“Was her father considered affectionate?”
“An’Berranin came to visit her during her time at the Academia; Killian seemed to feel there was affection there.”
“Killian is an Avatar,” the Consort said, voice almost remote. “But the rules that govern his existence—and the Academia—are not the rules that govern the High Halls.” She placed both palms on the table’s edge as if bracing herself.
She then opened her mouth and began to sing.
It was music that was unadorned by instrument, by harmony—but harmonies could be heard, regardless. Kaylin had seen the Consort sing before—in the West March, in a desperate bid to wake the Hallionne—and she was reminded of that now. Reminded and alarmed. She started to rise, and Teela clamped a hand on her shoulder. Teela’s hand was trembling ever so slightly.
To the clearing came a figure Kaylin recognized, given he’d escorted them both to the Consort’s small pocket forest. But the Avatar who had offered guidance and the Avatar who now stood to one side of the Consort were somehow different; Kaylin wasn’t certain why. It wasn’t the clothing; the robes were very simple Barrani robes; it wasn’t the hair, which was the usual sleek drape of Barrani black. The color the skin had adopted was fair. Nothing was different.
But somehow, everything was.
The Avatar looked at both Teela and Kaylin as if he recognized neither. His eyes were dark—as dark as the Consort’s, as dark as Teela’s. The Consort’s voice fell on a tremulous, high note, and then she lowered her chin, breathing heavily, as if recovering from great exertion.
“They are not a threat,” she said. “They mean no harm.”
“You are troubled, daughter. You are afraid. Should I remove them?”
“No! No, please. They carry news, and perhaps one day I will be glad of it because I will have had advance warning. I did not plead for your presence in order to cause them harm; I believe they will be necessary in the near future, and they will go where we cannot.”
This familiar yet strange Avatar then turned to Kaylin and Teela as the Consort continued to speak. “I wish you to examine the Records you have about the Berranin line.”
“Time period?”
“Perhaps a century prior to its excision.”
“Do you wish to know how they ended?”
“If you possess that information—I believe they ended after you had been forced, by circumstance and the need to protect us, to withdraw.”
“If that is the case, the information I have may be of little value.”
She shook her head. “I wish to know about the relationship between An’Berranin of that time and his daughter.”
“He had two daughters; he mourned the death of the one who died.”
The Consort’s pale brows rose, as did Teela’s. “We were not aware that she had a sister. How did the sister die?”
“She failed a challenge set her by her sister. Her death was not kind.”
“Was her sister Azoria?” It was Kaylin who asked.
“Yes. But the two were close, she and her sister. You did not know of the sister.”
The Consort shook her head.
“She was barely adult when she perished; she made no mark upon history. But she made a mark upon her father and the sister that remained. He was certain that Azoria was responsible for her death.”
“Was she?”
“Yes, in a fashion—but she did not intend to kill her sister; I believe she wanted to frighten her in the way some siblings and friends do. That is not what happened. Her father showed great favoritism for the younger daughter—it was the youngest he intended to offer as possible Consort. I believe, however, that in spite of his political intent, she might well have succeeded; she was gentle. She was considered weak; she was not. But she was not easily influenced.”
“And her sister?” the Consort asked.
“Azoria intended to become the guardian of the Lake in her sister’s stead. She could not. It was not in her, but she was determined to try.”
The Consort nodded.
“She failed the first test. She failed the second. I believe there were other attempts. But you are Consort, so I will tell you this: it was her hope that she might find the word at the heart of her sister’s life, and that she might, in so doing, absorb it or carry it.”
“She wanted to resurrect the dead.”
“Yes. That was the start of it. She knew what the Barrani know: that the words come from—and return to—the Lake. She reasoned that her sister could therefore somehow be found, that amends could be made. But she would not have access to the Lake unless she passed the many tests.
“Her father wished for her to pass those tests; if she was not the favored daughter, she was nonetheless his daughter, and in this fashion she could prove to be of use. But he did not forgive the death of the sister.”
“No one told her that she could not pass the test if that was her sole ambition? The words that grant life are not the lives themselves; she might find the word, but that would return none of her sister to her or her family.”
“She did not speak of that ambition; she was not a fool. If that was her goal, she knew that she would be disqualified before she could even begin. She desired her father’s forgiveness at that time. This would be her atonement. And it would prove to him that he had two special daughters.”
The Consort looked down at her hands. “It is better,” she said softly, “to accept what is given—or what is not given—no matter how bitter the lack might seem.”
“You are Consort,” the Avatar said. “She is not.”
“This happened before the war, before the fall of the Halls?”
“Yes. I believe at some point she understood that the test was not political; that the adjudication could not be bypassed by either personal power or wealth. She had nothing the Lake desired—in that, I believe she felt the Lake and her father were similar. It was bitter.”
“She spoke to you?”
“She spoke to me then. She desired entry into the Lake.”
The Consort’s brows gathered together, as if in thought. “You told her that you could not grant that.”
“I told her I could not—my core functions would prevent such intrusion, regardless of my desire. The Lake is both strong and the balance delicate; the risk was far too high. She accepted that.”
“She did not,” the Consort said, voice much softer.
“She did. While I was whole, she did not make the attempt. She traveled beyond the High Halls in search of knowledge.”
“Did you not think she intended that knowledge to be used against you?”
“Against me? No. It was not personal. But she wished to understand many things; she was always inquisitive, and her ability to piece together disparate strands of information was second to none while she lived in the High Halls. She traveled to the Academia, and remained there for some time. I thought she had perhaps found a calling that was larger in all ways than the desire to resurrect her sister.”
“She did not come here,” the Consort said softly, “to resurrect her sister, so perhaps in that regard you are correct.” Her hands bunched in fists. “Or if she did, that was not the story we were told—it is not the story the Lake tells in its mourning.”
Kaylin waited.
“She may have accepted that you could prevent her from reaching the Lake—but the war happened, and the Shadows infiltrated, and you were forced to cage both the Shadow and yourself in the smallest part of the Halls. The protection you afforded the Lake was severely weakened.” She turned to Kaylin. “I believe you could find the Lake. I am always aware of its presence. But at the moment, only those invited into the heart of my personal responsibility can reach it.
“What you found the first time, and what she found when she intruded, are similar. The High Halls could not fully offer the protection it had offered before it imprisoned the great Shadow in the depths of the Tower.” She closed her eyes. “We know that she spent time in the Academia. But we did not have access to those who might have given us information about her studies—the Academia was lost to the rise of the Towers.
“Your discussions with the various denizens of the Academia is far more complete than the brief investigations that were done—and those brief investigations were shut down, and word of the damage done forbidden. Do you understand why?”
Kaylin nodded. “You were afraid that someone with similar ambitions might follow the same paths Azoria had walked, and do the same damage.”
“Yes. She entered the Lake—we know not how, although some acquaintance with the friends you shelter within your home suggests possible answers. Your friends were changed by their experience in the green, and they changed themselves while imprisoned in the Hallionne Alsanis. She was not likewise imprisoned, and she was not likewise exposed to the regalia at too early an age—but perhaps you have suggestions or suspicions of your own.
“Regardless, she appeared at the edge of the Lake; she injured the Consort of the time. The defenses inherent in the Lake rose to protect the Consort, her blood mingling with the words, as if that was always the intruder’s intent.
“And then she...began to devour the words she could reach. She...ate them, internalized them. The words dimmed in her hands and as they did she discarded them. They crumbled, becoming ash. They were lost to us. They would never again enliven those newborns who slept, waiting their call.
“Even now, there is a scar in the bowl of the Lake where she but stood.” The Consort bowed her head.
“How was she defeated? If she drew power from the Lake, if she could absorb the power inherent in words that might sustain you for eternity, how did you save the Lake?”
“The mistake made was the mistake you make; it is inherent in your question. You are Chosen, and the marks you bear have power—but they are not the words granted us by the Ancients. There is no power in them beyond the power to quicken life; there is no power that can be taken by any who are not newborn.”
Kaylin wanted to argue, but didn’t. She understood that this wasn’t an intellectual discussion for the Consort; it touched upon her deepest fear and invoked a lasting horror. And perhaps it should.
But Kaylin was thinking of Starrante and the birthing place of his kind: a place where the tiny, ravenous spiders traversed webs devouring each other until only one remained. The implication: that in the devouring, the remaining Wevaran contained all of the small words or small elements that emerge to become a word, a True Name. Bakkon had been horrified that Starrante had talked about these birthing mysteries of their race.
Kaylin understood that horror now. She wondered if the assault on the Lake had been an attempt to somehow grow strong in the same way, if Azoria meant to become something new, something greater than the sum of the parts—the words themselves.
It hadn’t worked out that way.
“There was a battle by the Lake. We are not warriors,” the Consort said, “but Consorts are Barrani, and we are trained for just such an intrusion, just such an attack. She was driven out; she was injured and believed close to death.”
“She did not attack the Lake with the aid of Berranin.” Teela sought confirmation.
“That was not conclusively proved—and the Lady was near death. The attacker was of Berranin, and Berranin paid the price.”
Kaylin did not argue against what was obviously the harsh application of Barrani law. But if the father and the rest of the clan had had no hand in the attack—and possibly no knowledge of it—they would not meet death in the Emperor’s Empire.
“An’Teela?” the Consort then said, after the silence had lengthened.
“I better understand your fear. But if, in that attack, she did not derive the power she believed she sought, I think it unlikely that she would make the attempt again. She, or any Barrani.”
“Would that I had your belief. If she continued to study forbidden arts, or arts unknown to us, we believe—had she survived—she would have made the same attempt.” The Consort lowered her chin. “And now you tell me that you believe she has survived.”
Kaylin hesitated. “It might be better to say she’s survived in some fashion. If you could identify names, if you could look at the words in the Lake and recognize some part of the life they lived, you’d know if she’d returned to the Lake in any form.” She had, as she so often did with the Consort, abandoned High Barrani for language that was more natural for her.
“Consorts carry a weight of responsibility, but they are people, Lord Kaylin. They are people with emotions and experiences. Were such a thing possible, Consorts might have been tempted, throughout our history, to strike out or strike back when the balance of power is in their hands; they might consign the word to an eternity of isolation.
“Perhaps for that reason, we were not granted that ability. Historical records are quite clear: she is dead. Her line is dead. I have no reason to believe that the historical records were built on a foundation of lies.”
“No reason except the hints of her, the traces of her, that we stumbled across.”
The Consort nodded. Her indigo eyes turned to Teela, and remained there. “Tell me.”
“Our investigation led us to a modest house—for mortals. You would not consider it suitable for any purpose, but to the mortals it is a reasonable, if small, home. Were it not for the fact that it is much smaller than the houses to either side, it would not be notable at all.
“The old woman who is its sole occupant would likewise garner little attention in most normal circumstances; she is considered a bit fanciful.”
“Fanciful?”
“She believes she can see the ghosts of the dead.”
“How did you come to meet her?”
“She makes a daily trek to the Halls of Law, where she offers those Hawks at the public desk baked goods and gossip. The gossip, however, involves the ghosts she sees and their remarkably mundane concerns. She has been a fixture of the office for all of the years I’ve occupied it,” Teela added.
This was almost a lie. Barrani were never scheduled for desk duty.
“Kaylin was on desk duty a few days ago, and the old woman came with gossip that involved Kaylin’s duty partner. Kaylin also has a weakness for food which an older woman could easily exploit, but this particular visitor is not one of them. She likes to bake. She likes the Hawks. She’s lonely.
“But you are aware that Kaylin is Chosen; you are aware that she has a familiar. On occasion, the familiar will allow his master—” Hope squawked at the word, which Teela ignored “—to look through his wing. If he notices something out of place, he will raise the wing and place it across her eyes.
“When she looked through the wing at the foot of the mortal’s modest dwelling, she could see the...ghostly outline of a much larger building above the old woman’s residence. It was research into that that allowed Kaylin to stumble across the forbidden name. If, as we have believed, she is dead, someone thought to play a joke on the government: her name was listed as owner a century ago, in mortal time. No other records list that name, but these were found in the taxation Records.
“Kaylin recognized the styling as a Barrani name—and in the experience of the Halls of Law, Barrani ownership of buildings in certain areas has generally led to the discovery of many, many broken Imperial Laws. It was natural that she attempt to find information about the owner, given the lack of the building the mortal theoretically owned, the lack of a legal lot partition, and the presence of a modest, small house in roughly the same geographic location.”
The Consort nodded.
“But the name has history, and the history is dark; it drew attention Kaylin had not considered possible from tax Records. Understanding the sensitivity of the investigation, I chose to accompany her when she returned to examine the interior of that house.
“The first unusual thing occurred before I managed to reach the house itself. The neighbor—about whom Kaylin will say nothing or she will rant about bullies for far longer than either of us have the patience to endure—threw himself at my feet, weeping and groveling. He felt he recognized me. In fact, he was certain that I was...someone else. Barrani, to humans who do not interact with them with any frequency, look very similar. He assumed that I was a different Barrani woman—one with whom he had some sort of relationship.”
The Consort looked mildly disgusted, but nodded.
“In and of itself, this would not give rise to suspicions that a historical criminal somehow escaped death; it is a small shadow, a strand.
“It is the interior of the house—or rather, one room—and the story of the old woman who lives there, that provides the stronger concern. The woman was born in the house; it was owned by mortal parents. They had one child that we know of, and they grew old and died in the house, leaving it to their daughter.
“When the current occupant was perhaps eleven years of age, they met a young woman who was painting in the common for coin. It is not unusual for mortals. She was striking, graceful, and very talented according to the woman who was a child at the time.” Teela exhaled. “With your permission?”
The Consort nodded. Kaylin, who was about to ask, Permission for what? felt a wave of magic crawl across her arms, up her neck, and down her spine.
“This painter was so taken with the child and her parents that she offered to come to their house and do a private sitting. She arranged the family in a chair they owned, but took special care with the girl.” Teela gestured. In the center of this small table, the painting that Helen had brought to life appeared.
The Consort froze.
“The hair was arranged by the artist. The flower, brought in a planter, was placed in the braided hair by the artist. The child was then asked to sit with her parents. Do you recognize the styling?”
The Consort, however, didn’t seem to notice the complicated braiding; her eyes reflected the flower, as if it were the only thing she could see. “Is this accurate?” she asked, voice soft. “Lord Kaylin?”
“Yes. Although I’m not sure Teela’s magic captures the livid quality of the green.” She hesitated, and received a warning glare from Teela. “My familiar did not like the painting.”
“I wish to speak with the mortal. You will bring her here. Now.”